


Grinding on That Wood

by piratekelly



Series: Cause of Death [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Frottage, M/M, but really only at the end, werewolf Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2961374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m gonna die,” he squeaks out.</p>
<p>Derek sighs.  “You’re not going to die, Stiles.”</p>
<p>He carries on like Derek hadn’t even spoken.  “I can see it now: Here lies Stiles Stilinski.  Cause of death: attempted boning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grinding on That Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Blessings be upon Chiomi, who not only encouraged this idea, but also looked over it as I was working on it.
> 
> Also thanks to bleep0bleep for saying "BROKEN PELVIS DO IT" when I posted about this. Your enthusiasm made this happen.

They’re alone in the loft on a Saturday night when it happens.

Stiles’ dad is working the night shift so Parrish can patrol the woods with Scott while everyone else has the night off for once. Normally there would be two pairs pulling duty on a single night, but things have been quiet on the supernatural front for a while, and anything more than two people just seems like too much.

Stiles and Derek happened to get lucky tonight (it hadn’t been their turn to spend a creepy, unromantic night in the woods and everyone else had plans of their own for the evening) and Stiles had come to the loft hoping that the night could get better in even luckier ways. Not that he’s expecting it; their budding romance is still pretty new, and they haven’t had much time together, just the two of them, but Stiles is eighteen and his boyfriend is hot like burning. He’s allowed to dream a little.

He lets himself in and is welcomed by the sight of Derek in a worn white t-shirt and jeans that don’t look like they cut off the circulation to his legs, and if Stiles weren’t absolutely starving, he’d climb that _so hard_. As it is, Derek is standing in the kitchen, holding a plate piled high with steaming hot spaghetti and meatballs, looking like sex on a stick, and he’s feeling very conflicted.

Stiles’ stomach can be such a cockblock sometimes.

“This looks like the intro to some really high class porn,” he says, leaning in to kiss Derek on the cheek.

Derek snorts, practically shoving the plate into Stiles’ hands. “Are you going to eat, or do I need to ask you to taste my balls first?”

“You’re so hot when you’re snarky,” he replies as he sits down at the table.

They eat in companionable silence, taking their time just being happy to be around each other with no interruptions. The dining room is warm, the residual heat from the oven making his cheeks flush just a little. Stiles wishes he could blame the heat on just that, but Derek’s got one hand on his knee, thumb gently caressing the side of his knee. When Stiles manages to steal a glance at Derek’s face, he’s the picture of innocence, face neutral as he sets down his fork and reaches over for his glass of water like he doesn’t have another hand to do it for him.

Stiles wants to make some smartass remark about how Derek has so many other things he could do with that hand if he wanted to help out a little, but Derek turns to look at him and winks before going back to his food.

Mother _fucker_.

Well if Derek isn’t going to play fair, then neither is Stiles.

\--

He’s not really sure when sitting close together graduates to snuggling, but he’s not going to complain. There’s a solid, warm body underneath his, one whose milkshake could bring all people to his yard, and yet here he is with Stiles, watching superhero movies on their night off from patrol, hanging out in their jim jams without a care in the world. 

It’s not long before Stiles has Derek completely underneath him, head resting against Derek’s collarbone as they watch Tony Stark blow something up by accident. If Stiles is being honest, he’s not really interested in the movie, but if it gets him closer to Derek than they’ve had a chance to be in weeks, then he’s going to enjoy it.

When the movie is over, Stiles finds himself laying nearly eye to eye with Derek, chin resting on top of his folded hands, moving with the gentle rise and fall of Derek’s chest as he dozes. Stiles is tempted to let him keep sleeping, is actually considering joining him, but he feels like being a little selfish tonight. He leans up, then, close enough that he’s just a few inches from Derek’s lips. Derek opens his eyes, flashing a quiet smile at Stiles before leaning up to close the distance between them.

Before he knows it, one kiss turns to two which turns to full-on making out, all tongue and teeth and very little finesse, the need to touch and be touched far too high to care about whether or not what they’re doing _looks_ good. It’s not long before Stiles is straddling Derek’s lap, grinding down into Derek’s very impressive and slightly intimidating bulge, moaning into yet another long, lazy kiss. He can feel Derek’s hands roaming all around him, up his arms and down his sides, the callouses on his fingers against his neck as he pulls Stiles even closer.

Stiles has his fingers threaded in Derek’s hair, tilting Derek’s head back just enough to give them both a better angle, when things taken an unexpected turn.

Derek’s hands are on Stiles’ hips, holding him close as they grind against each other, a silent competition to see who can get the other off the quickest. Stiles finds a particularly sensitive spot on Derek’s neck, causing Derek’s grip on Stiles’ his to tighten. Stiles groans in response; he knows there will be bruises there tomorrow, and considering how many injuries he’s sustained just by being in Derek’s presence he thinks it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. He repeats the action, biting down right where shoulder meets neck, and Derek’s hips jerk up right as he pulls Stiles down. 

Things gets decidedly less pleasant after that.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans.

“Yeah,” Derek replies. “God, _yes_ , Stiles.”

“No,” Stiles says, trying to pull himself back. “Oh, fuck, as in, that fucking hurt.”

Derek tenses beneath him, ceasing all movement as he looks Stiles over. “You okay?”

“I don’t…know? I mean, things hurt, uh,” he gestures toward his groin, “down there, but I don’t really know what?”

“Here, let me just,” Derek pulls Stiles off of his lap, pushing him back so Stiles is now laying down. It hurts, but not as much as he feels like it should. Derek’s probably doing some of his werewolf pain drain, which Stiles kind of expected. What Stiles isn’t expecting him to do is lean over and try to give him a good sniff. 

“Derek, buddy,” he chokes out. “Now’s not the time for blow jobs, okay? The fragile human is in pain.”

Derek just rolls his eyes and continues his move toward Stiles’ stomach. “Shut up. I’m going to see if there’s any blood pooling anywhere, okay?”

“Oh, there’s blood pooling there, alright.” 

“Stiles,” Derek groans. 

He raises his hands in defeat. “Fine. All I’m saying is that maybe if your face had been there in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Stiles gets a glare for that one, but nothing else is said. Derek lifts up Stiles’ shirt, exposing his stomach to the cool air of the loft, and Stiles inhales sharply. At any other time the juxtaposition of hot and cold would be working wonders for him (like it had been five minutes ago), but right now, all he wants is to figure out why everything hurts and have Derek kiss it all better.

Preferably with lots of spit and tongue, but who’s asking?

He’s brought out of his thoughts, though, when Derek tenses, pulling back quickly. “What?”

“I think, uh… I think maybe your pelvis is broken?”

Stiles laughs, but stops quickly when the motion sends a shock of pain up his spine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I think I broke your pelvis.”

“How?”

“Well, Stiles, when one much stronger pelvis meets a very fragile human one –”

“You’re _such_ an asshole,” Stiles whimpers. He can feel it now that Derek’s pulled himself away from Stiles completely, taking the pain relief with him. His stomach feels heavy, a little tingly, and he can already see bruises forming that are definitely not in the shape of a certain werewolf’s fingerprints. 

He feels lightheaded and he can’t pull in enough oxygen to keep the dizziness at bay. Whether this is the result of his broken body or an oncoming panic attack, Stiles isn’t sure, but he knows that either way it doesn’t mean anything good.

“We,” he wheezes. “We should get to a hospital, like, right now.”

“Uh, Stiles?”

“What now?” he snaps.

“I don’t think a hospital is going to be very useful.”

Stiles stares at him, disbelief written all over his face. “I’m dying and you’re telling me that medical professionals are useless?”

Derek groans, pushing Stiles back down into the couch. “You’re bleeding pretty quickly, Stiles.”

“I’m gonna die,” he squeaks out.

Derek sighs. “You’re not going to die, Stiles.”

He carries on like Derek hadn’t even spoken. “I can see it now: Here lies Stiles Stilinski. Cause of death: attempted boning.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Stiles. It’s not attractive.”

“Because _that’s_ my chief concern right now.”

Stiles is starting to panic for real this time. He’s actually going to die, right here, on his boyfriend’s couch where he’d come so close to actually having someone else’s hand on his dick (or, hell, even a nipple, a nipple would have sufficed) for the first time in his life. Things were finally starting to go right with the world. They survived high school, college was around the corner, he had a boyfriend, they weren’t running for their lives every night, he was just barely beginning to live! And maybe Derek’s right, maybe he is being a little dramatic, but dammit, he’s too young to go out like this.

“Hey Stiles.”

“What?”

Derek’s face comes into view, hovering just above his own. “I vant to suck your blood.”

Everything kind of stops for a second, because what?

“What the fuck, Derek? Does this really seem like the time to make Dracula jokes?”

“Obviously I don’t really want to do that,” Derek replies. “Mostly.”

“What do you mean, _mostly_?”

“I mean,” Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That a bite would fix all of this.”

“You are not seriously suggesting that I let you turn me.”

“Do you want to explain this” - he gestures to Stiles’ abdomen - “to your dad?”

Stiles groans, but has to concede the point. His dad really doesn’t need to know that his son was dry humped so hard that it physically broke him. “I just always thought that if this ever happened it’d be after I did something noble, like crashing my car to avoid hitting an elderly woman.”

“Are you going to let me do it or not?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Stiles grumbles, tilting his head back. “But I want you to know that this is all your fault and I hate you.”

Derek kisses the inside of his wrist before his fangs drop, eyes turning a bright red. “No, you don’t.”

And then he bites down, and there’s only darkness.

\--

When Stiles wakes up the next morning he can hear birds chirping outside the window, smell bacon cooking in the next room, and can hear Derek’s only neighbors arguing five floors down. It’s weird, having all of his senses kicked up to eleven, but what’s even more weird is how… _not_ weird it actually is. He’d been mentally preparing himself for this moment for a long time, and he supposes that makes him at least moderately prepared for everything that comes with being a creature of the night.

His dad is so going to kill him.

“I can hear you moving around up there,” Derek says. “Now come down here and eat.”

Stiles groans, but kicks back the sheets anyway. “I still hate you.”

“Not enough to pass up bacon, you don’t.”

He’s right. It sucks, but if Derek looks half as smug as he sounds, then he knows he has Stiles cornered. If someone doesn’t like salty, crispy goodness first thing in the morning, then they’re not a person Stiles needs to know.

Stiles will make him pay anyway. If Derek thought Stiles could eat a lot when he was just a squishy human teenager, then he’s not even a little bit prepared for Stiles with an even faster metabolism.

Maybe this werewolf thing won’t be so bad after all.

At least now he can have sex that’s not life-threatening.


End file.
